SNAFU: Survival of the Fittest

“Whereas the Zdarskys were raised by themselves,” I concluded. I regarded Burgess for a long enough period to make him uncomfortable.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Well, we’ve gone from creationism to dinosaurs to God to Superman. You’re an interesting young man, Burgess. Much more so than I expected.”

He managed to blush, but still said, “Not your everyday Indian with a bow and arrow and a wigwam, huh?”

I raised an eyebrow. “I suppose I deserved that, although this business tends to draw some very special people.” I didn’t have to mention what I meant by ‘business.’ I thought about Nancy Drew and how odd a fellow he’d been, and then the juxtaposition of his replacement and how out of sync his dramatic southern accent went with his Asian features.

“What about you, sir? Where do you come from?”

I sighed. It wasn’t often that I opened up but I felt an affinity with this kid. “My father was very wealthy, so wealthy that I was spared a normal childhood by spending all my days at private boarding schools. I probably saw my parents three times a year. It wasn’t until the war came along and I was drafted that I finally found a real family.”

“Sounds terrible. I spent every waking moment with my family.”

I shrugged. “It would be ridiculous to complain. I had the best of everything. I wanted for nothing. By the time I was eighteen I’d already seen Europe.” I glanced at him. “Good thing, too, because it all changed after the war.”

“Is that why you’ve never married, sir?”

The words bit and I couldn’t help but give him a look that said he’d gone too far.

He immediately backtracked. “Sorry, sir. It’s just that me and the boys wondered.”

“Let’s just say that I think the head of a family should be committed to it. Right now, Special Unit 77 is my family.”

“Yes, sir.” Then he pointed out the windshield. “Look, sir. I think they’re opening up.”

It was about time. I was beginning to feel uncomfortable even though it was me who’d opened the conversational door. We got out and went inside. I paused at the door to Mannetti’s Catering Company but didn’t detect any wards. The inside was cool. Across the black and white checkerboard floor were glass cases displaying cakes and various desserts.

A man behind the counter beamed when he saw me. Then his face fell as I began asking him questions and he realized I wasn’t a customer.

Thus began a fruitless effort.

The next place on our list was closed, with a note saying they were busy at The Grove.

In the third place a young man with dirty fingernails and a gold watch on his wrist sat behind the counter reading comic books. On the counter next to him were several Where Monsters Dwell, their covers gaudy with creatures Special Unit 77 would be after had they really existed. In his hand he held an issue of the Silver Surfer — another alien with different ideas of right and wrong. The kid was absolutely non-responsive, mumbling something about no one being around right now, despite the fact that he was around.

The fourth place held a nice older woman who apologized for not being able to answer my questions because, like the boy at the place before, she was merely there to greet visitors, but unlike the boy at the place before, she was willing to get back to me later if I’d only leave my name and number.

By the time we got back to The Grove, I was tired and hungry and upset at our lack of progress. Back in Everett’s office, I phoned Doris for an update. Four of the seven caterers had been checked with nothing to show for it.

I was just putting the phone down when Everett and Montesonti entered.

“Where’s Chan?” I asked Everett.

“We caught them.”

“You caught who?”

“We know who it is? A catering company from San Rafael. Fitzsimmons Catering. They had several dozen chairs which set off all my wards. I’m not sure what was going to happen, but by the greasy feeling I got, they couldn’t be good.”

I felt myself listening in slow motion. I replayed what he said in my head. “Where’s Chan?” I asked again.

“He’s with Major Harold putting the whole crew in custody.”

“Did you recognize one of the men in the catering company?”

Everett shook his head. “I didn’t. But remember, I said his face changed, so it could be any of them.”

Montesonti clapped Everett on the back. “Good work, kid.”

Everett beamed.

Burgess interrupted the happy fest with an odd question to Montesonti. “Where’d you get that watch?”

The large man regarded the gold watch on his wrist. “This old thing? Got it off a dead Kraut during the war.”

“What model is it?” Burgess leaned down to inspect it. “Lange & Sohn. Never heard of them before.”

Montesonti chuckled, the sound like a low rumble. “You wouldn’t have. Jeweler friend of mine said this baby is worth about three grand.”

Everett interrupted. “Looks like the good guys came out on top.”

“It looks that way,” I said, getting out of his chair. I glanced at Burgess. I didn’t know what he was up to with the watch, but I was interested. “Come on. Let’s go find Gunnery Sergeant Chan.”

MONTE RIO

July 10, 1970